Elements
by Athenais777
Summary: Fluffy little pieces about Ron, Hermione, and hot encounters with weather elements for a background. Rain and snow for now. Rated M for a reason.
1. Rain

**A/N **_It has been a while since I wrote a solid M-rated story and, as I was taking a nice walk in the rain one day, this little plot popped into my mind._

_This story is just about a nice encounter between Ron and Hermione. Extras include an apple tree and rain (hence the title, referring to weather elements and not the table of elements). Mostly fluffy and definitely deserving of the M rating. Not for children._

_Please read and let me know whether you like it or not through a review or private message._

_Disclaimer: I'll come clean. I don't own Harry Potter.  
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><p>Hermione took a look at the sky through the kitchen window of the Burrow. The sky was overcast and looked ready to give birth at any moment to a nice spring shower. It was appropriate, she thought with a sigh, as it was April, and the last day of her Easter holiday. Tomorrow, she would be back on a train to Hogwarts with Ginny. And Harry and Ron would be back in London as Aurors in training. But for now, they were all enjoying the day at the Burrow. She had hoped she could take a nice walk with Ron after the lovely meal Mrs. Weasley had just served. The rain might put a damper in her plans.<p>

It didn't matter. She could spend the afternoon in the sitting-room with Ron. She saw him sprawled over the sofa. Hermione watched with a tender smile as she saw Ron stretch like a cat and pat his belly. He had obviously been very happy to get reacquainted with his mother's exceptional culinary skills. Hermione sat on the sofa a foot away from him and told him:

"You know, it can be alarming sometimes, how much you like eating."

"Well, Mum cooks and she wants to see us eat. That makes her happy."

"That doesn't explain why you ate so much when you were in school," she replied as she sat closer to him and his arm wrapped itself around her.

"You know, the house elves have feelings too. It was to make them happy as well," he cheeked back while his hand lazily snaked around her delicate wrist.

"Har-dee-har-har. Admit it, you're just a stomach on feet," she teased him back with a grin.

"I'm not denying it," he spoke softly while he gently rubbed his thumb on the inside of her wrist.

She let a sigh of contentment out. It was always amazing to her that his large hands and long fingers could be used so deftly, provoking exquisite sensations on her skin with the merest touch. She turned to face him fully and moved her head closer to his, closing her eyes in anticipation. He leaned slowly into her and lips met, tenderly at first and then more heatedly as hands moved to tangle themselves in hair.

A loud "Ronald Bilius Weasley" in the voice of Mrs. Weasley made them jump apart.

Ron felt his ears redden and readied himself for an unavoidable scolding from his mother. It didn't matter he was nineteen and not living at the Burrow anymore. She would still scold him for snogging Hermione in the living room. He then realised his mum wasn't in the room. In her stead were Ginny and Harry, both in a fit of laughter.

"I reckon it works. I'll have to tell George," Ginny managed between two laughs. "It really imitates Mum's voice perfectly."

If Hermione had not been going back on a bloody train to Scotland the next day, without him, he might have appreciated the ingenuity of the product George had developed and even perhaps the joke. But for now, Ron looked at his little sister with a murderous look in his eyes. It didn't improve when he saw Ginny snigger at him before telling him:

"Oh, come on, Ron. This is the newest product from George's shop. You can use it to speak in someone else's voice. It works like Polyjuice Potion, you just need some hair. But it's just much faster to brew."

"You should have seen your face, Ron," Harry smiled at him.

"Why always me?" Ron asked and there was an edge to his voice.

He rose suddenly and left the room abruptly. They heard the kitchen door to the garden slam with more force than was necessary.

"What's wrong with him?" Ginny muttered. "It was just a joke."

"Well, your interruption was neither welcome nor funny," Hermione replied somewhat primly.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry tried to soothe her. She looked as edgy as Ron had sounded. "What's the matter?"

"I have to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow and I won't see him for two months. We just wanted to enjoy some time together."

And on this, she followed after Ron, although she didn't slam the door.

Harry had the good grace to look sorry but Ginny didn't.

"This is our last evening together too for another two months," she told Harry in a seductive tone. It would have been seductive at least if she hadn't sounded exactly like her mother.

"How long before this wears off?" Harry asked her.

"An hour," she replied. "I guess I am not turning you on too much sounding like Mum, am I?"

"Not exactly," Harry replied with humour. "I love your mum, but definitely not in this way," he said with a light shudder. He then smiled and told her sweetly: "It's only an hour... and then we can make up for it."

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><p>In the garden, Hermione was looking for Ron. She had exited less than a minute after him but she knew how fast his long legs could outdistance her. She started toward the orchard, not caring about the garden gnomes who were popping randomly along the way. She knew the secluded spot, under an old apple tree, where he liked to retreat when he needed some time alone. She spotted his red hair first, always a beacon of light to her.<p>

He was standing next to the apple tree in full bloom, taking in his hand some of the fallen fruits from the previous autumn and throwing them energetically against the nearest tree. She ducked to avoid one and came in his line of vision.

"I should introduce you to cricket if you like throwing things that much. You would make a good bowler. Seriously, I'd be ever grateful if you could please not throw fruit in my direction," she announced as she came to stand next to him.

He figured she must have been talking about a Muggle sport and gave her a grunt in return.

"For your information, I didn't appreciate the interruption anymore than you did and could think of something to get back at Harry and Ginny."

That brought a light smile on his face and she heard him mutter:

"I like when you get naughty."

"Don't I know?"

"No, I don't mean it that way," he defended himself. "Although I do like it, very much indeed."

"I would never have guessed," she replied somewhat amused, bringing a devilish grin on him.

"I like when you start thinking elaborate revenge schemes to get back at Harry and Ginny."

"I said "could". I don't think I need to do anything actually."

"Nothing?"

"No, not a thing," she confirmed.

"Why is that?"

"Think of it, Ron. Ginny sounds like your mum. I know Harry loves your mum very much but I doubt he does in the way he loves your sister."

"That's just sick to even mention it, Hermione," Ron replied with a shudder.

"Exactly. So, I am quite certain that Ginny must be regretting sounding like your mum right now," she added.

"I didn't think of it that way... You have a wicked mind, you know?" he said admiringly.

"I didn't do anything. Harry and Ginny did that to themselves," she said smugly. "Although I certainly can get crafty when I am irked enough," she admitted.

"I know," he replied in a low voice while showing some arc-shaped scars on his hands.

"I am sorry about the birds," she told him.

"Nah... I deserved them."

"You know we could heal those scars rather easily."

This was a conversation they had had several times.

"No, I've told you. I need to keep them. They remind me why I shouldn't be a bloody prat to you."

She couldn't help the smile on her face as she advanced to close the space between them. He took her in his arms and backed her against the trunk of the gnarled apple tree. He then gently lowered his head and resumed the kiss that had been unceremoniously interrupted by Harry and Ginny. She had to rise on her toes to meet his lips but it was more than worth it. She locked her arms around his neck and responded with great enthusiasm when his lips opened and his tongue asked for entrance in a slow and sensuous lick of her lower lip. She could taste the chocolate of the delicious cake they had had for dessert, but she always expected that hint of chocolate and mint when kissing him. Rather intoxicating.

They kissed slowly and thoroughly for several minutes, as if nothing around them existed. They didn't feel the drops of rain that had started coming down, in typical April shower fashion, until they had to finally stop to breathe.

"Oh no, it's raining. My hair," Hermione lamented.

"Erm, yes, it's raining and what does that have to do with your hair?" he asked, puzzled.

"It gets bushier when it rains," she admitted.

"More fun," Ron cheeked back at her. "You know I have dreamt for a while to..."

He stopped in his tracks, realising he had spoken aloud.

"To do what, Ron?" she asked him curiously.

His ears reddened.

"I don't think you want to know," he said sheepishly.

"Oh no, you can't start something like that and not finish," she told him in a bossy tone.

"All right, but promise you won't laugh."

"Any reason I should?" she asked him mischievously.

His face was turning a deep crimson shade. He took a deep breath:

"Remember when we, erm, enjoyed ourselves in the shower?"

It was her turn to blush fiercely. She had surprised him by joining him in the shower earlier that week. Some delightfully clean enjoyment had ensued when she had decided to personally make sure all parts of his body were thoroughly washed and had helped with the matter.

"Yes," she replied timidly.

"Well, I like the idea of you wet..."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh shit. That came out wrong. I mean wet from water, not that the other way is not enjoyable, mind you."

Her eyebrow was still raised.

"Right... I sound like a sodding idiot, don't I?"

She finally spoke back to him in a low and sultry voice, one she only used with and for him.

"Ron?"

"What?"

"Shut up and kiss me. I am already wet."

He didn't even think of the double-entendre and just obliged her. His hand was surreptitiously sliding underneath her jumper, then underneath the thin cotton of her shirt, each layer a small battle until he found victory and the smooth skin of her back. She shivered and part of him was still amazed that the hands he had always found too big and too awkward could elicit such a response from her. Slowly his hands traced a pattern along her spine, bringing her closer to him.

She threw her head backward at the exquisite touch. Some raindrops fell on her face and neck but she didn't feel them, completely lost in the sensation of Ron's hands on her bare skin. He saw the water go down her elegant neck and a thousand images went through his overexcited brain: Hermione laughing, in that graceful way of hers; Hermione reading, seeming completely oblivious to the world around her, until he would brush her hand or hair with the lightest touch; Hermione arguing with him, giving her best to the row, pointing her slender index at him, and spewing reproaches at him, her beautiful lips moving to form higher sounds and shorter vowels; Hermione standing under the water from the shower, smiling at him a shy grin that belied the spark and boldness in her eyes, as her lips trailed down his body and all he saw was her wet hair as she went down on him.

He moved his mouth to the spot where the end of her collar bone peeked at him from the confine of her jumper. He found her overdressed and cursed at the pesky garment that kept him from fully enjoying the soft skin there. His fingers moved to push the woolly fabric out of the way. She helped him by grabbing the hem of her jumper and pulling it over her head. He saw her shiver. April in Devon was not that warm. He thought of the blue flames she could produce so effortlessly.

"You cold?" he asked her in a hoarse voice.

She didn't answer him, just took his mouth into a rough kiss while her right hand reached for the wand in the rear pocket of his jeans, fondling his arse possessively in the process. She effortlessly produced the blue flames he had just thought about mere moments before. She never removed her lips from his. She was brilliant, he thought, just utterly brilliant.

Now that cold wasn't an issue anymore, she mimicked his caresses with her hands on his body. It was like electricity, the Muggles' own brand of magic. He felt goose pimples form along the path her index was gently trailing on his back. She reached for the bottom of his jumper. He laughed internally: His perennial maroon Weasley jumper. He had started liking them when she had told him she loved them because they were so uniquely him. But at the moment he fell a deep loathing for the garment as it was another layer separating his skin from hers.

As if reading his mind, she took the hem of the jumper and lifted it, pulling it upward, taking the shirt he was wearing underneath along with it. He assisted her -she was too short to reach that high- and his chest was swiftly bared. He felt a few drops of rain land on his exposed skin and it was heavenly as it cooled him down.

Hermione took a look at him. She had seen his chest countless times by now. She had noticed that his shoulders were still broadening. He was still lean and his muscles were long. She let her fingers trace along his collarbone, descending slowly to the edge of his pectorals, teasing one of his flat nipples before going back to his shoulders. She tried connecting the freckles lying there, like constellations in the milky sky that was his skin. She could imagine Orion there and Cassiopeia in the cluster of freckles on the edge of his shoulders. Yes, it did look like a W. How appropriate! He had closed his eyes and she could feel his breathing on her hair. He was quivering from her touch. She might have been the brightest witch of her age but she felt infinitely more powerful knowing that her fingertips could make Ron Weasley quiver.

She stopped and he opened his blue eyes, fixing her with a look that was unmistakable lust and love. His shaggy fringe was now sticking to his forehead, plastered there by the rain. It reminded her of how he had looked when she had surprised him -and herself at her boldness- in the shower. She held his gaze, almost daring him to take the next step. As if he needed a dare!

He seized her face between his large hands and took her mouth in a ferocious kiss, while bringing his pelvis against her. There was no mistaking the bulge in his jeans. He wondered how long he could hold before ripping the rest of her clothes and just sheathe himself in her. He heard her moan something sounding like his name and felt her hands reach between them, attacking the pesky little buttons that held her shirt together.

His lips left her mouth and he chanced a look at her hands. They were so slender, pretty, and quite agile. He noticed the shirt was soaked from the rain and gave him a view of the simple cotton bra she wore underneath. He assisted her in parting the shirt open and sliding down the wet fabric over her shoulders and arms. He gently kissed the exposed skin over the round of her shoulder, murmuring loving non-sense along the way. He dived lower and took one of her bra-clad breast in his mouth, eliciting a wild moan from her. This was like a siren song to him, ensnaring his senses.

She reached behind her back and unfastened the bra. She took it off along with the shirt that had remained on her arms. And just like that, her chest was bare. He had seen her naked before, had seen her pert breasts before, had touched them and knew how perfectly they fit in his palms. Yet, he would never, could never, tire of such a beautiful sight.

He saw a few drops of rain fall on her and sinuate in the valley between her breasts. He bent down to lap it, his tongue taking the delicious taste of her skin, heightened by the rainwater. She moaned his name in delight as his tongue proceeded to her right breast, barely teasing her nipple. She thought she couldn't take more and yet she couldn't get enough of him. How could a man be so talented with his tongue?

She arched her back to offer her breasts up for more teasing. And he obliged, mercilessly, making her pant with desire.

He bent a little more down and started on her stomach, circling her navel in a maddening lick. His fingers then started working on the button and zip of her jeans, opening them and starting to slide them down her thighs, taking her knickers along the way. She was thankful for her blue flames but parts of her didn't need any additional heat.

Gently, his hands went to rest on her bare backside. She was about to lose her balance when she saw him kneel down in front of her, steadying her in the process. He took her jeans and knickers all the way down and off of her along with the simple flat shoes she'd been wearing.

She expected him to stand back up but he kept kneeling, his eyes level with her belly button. They were both drenched from the rain and Hermione marvelled that no steam had appeared given how hot she felt. She looked down at him, getting a prime view of his bare back, enjoying the contrast of his fiery hair, now darker as it was wet from the rain, to his pale and freckled skin. She longed to touch him more, to get him as bare as she was when she saw the familiar mischievous grin form on his face:

"I owe you for what you did to me in the shower."

"Oh!" was all she could say before his long fingers started a lazy course down her stomach toward the triangle of brown curls. He reached lower and found the little bundle of nerves well hidden under the folds. He started rubbing and felt her starting to slightly shake. She had entangled her hands in his wet hair and was pulling none too gently. She opened her legs wider to give him easier access. He needed no further invitation and bent his head down to let his tongue accompany his fingers. She was now quaking in earnest while chanting his name as if it were a secret and ancient incantation. He kept licking, teasing and sucking until he heard her scream as she let the release rip through her. He had to put a hand on the bark of the tree to steady himself, noticing how rough the bark felt, especially compared to the soft skin of Hermione's hip that was still under his other hand.

He looked up to see her face contort in that unmistakable look of total abandon and he felt a great pride at being the cause of it. He saw her gradually regain her composure and she slowly opened her eyes, to see him still kneeling in front of her, with a smug grin on his face.

"That, Love, was payback for what you did in the shower."

"This isn't a competition, Ron. And besides, if this is the payback, it will just incite me to visit you more when you are showering," she whispered to him seductively.

It made him groan, much to her delight.

He slowly rose, brushing every part of her bare body with his lips along the way, smelling the delicious smell of her skin dampened by rain and pleasure. It was like a little piece of heaven. When he stood to his full height, towering over her, he saw the naughty and beguiling smile blossom on her face. That couldn't be good... or actually it could be very good, very good indeed.

"You are still wearing clothes and..." she started.

"And you're not," he completed her sentence.

"Exactly. So we need to even things, don't we? Besides, your jeans are getting wet and it can't be comfortable," she told him as her fingers snaked down his bare torso and reached the button of his jeans, unfastening it in the blink of an eye.

She then attacked his zip, making it slide down easily and parting the front flaps to reach inside. She seized him and started pumping him while gently rubbing his tip with her thumb, eliciting wild moans of pleasure from him. He knew he wasn't going to last if she kept going at him like that. He gently reached for her hand and removed it from inside his boxer shorts.

"Hermione," he started but could not finish as her hands had moved to his back side and were now teasing the top of his bum.

"Take off your trousers," she whispered as her mouth went to nip at the base of his neck. He didn't have to be told twice and his jeans and pants were quickly down at his ankles and off of him. He was now as naked as she was.

Her hands went back to his back, short nails leaving a trail along his skin. All the while she was grinding her belly against his aching erection. Her mouth went from his neck to his chest, nibbling at his nipples, flicking her tongue against them, before going back to his mouth and taking him into a rough kiss.

She broke the kiss and her lips went lower on him, leaving a trail of searing little kisses on his chest, his navel, and down to his erection. She took him in her mouth and he vividly remembered the same scene taking place in the shower two days before. The walls of the shower stall had seemed too exiguous all of sudden.

She was bringing him to the edge of madness before she suddenly stopped and came back to face him.

"You have a wicked mouth, you know," he hissed. "And clever ways to use it."

"Stop cheeking. You're pretty talented yourself," she replied playfully.

Her hands were still all over his chest and she was playing with some of the rain drops that were falling on his shoulders, rubbing them in his skin with her fingertips. Here she was, taking a playful interlude when he was ready to explode. And he knew she knew. His very erect member, still glistening from her mouth, made it blatantly obvious he was ready for more.

"Hermione," came an impatient growl as her fingers started playing with the taut skin of his lower belly.

She smiled that beguiling smile again as she looked up at him.

"Ron?"

She was being a complete tease and did so in purpose. All the times they had been together, he always — how might she phrase that? — ask permission for entry in a way or another. How ironic was it that the boy with such uncouth table manners would behave so gentlemanly when it came to putting his penis inside her very eager vagina? He treated her as if she were a delicate flower. She wasn't, especially not at this moment. She just wanted him to come in, without even knocking. She wanted him to lose control just like he had made her lose control a few moments ago. So here she was playing a little teasing game, enticing him, hoping he would just get her message.

She kept looking at him, that oddly seductive smile on her face, while her fingers roamed over what he considered his bony arse and came back teasing his jutting hip bone before skimming just north of his crotch. Did she have any idea how her little digits felt there? She just looked at him, taunting him, daring him to take that next step. It was one of her little challenges: she liked pushing him every now and then. She wanted to play? Fine. He would play by her rules.

He tore himself from her torturous little fingers and reached for the wand that had been discarded with his jeans and, with practiced ease, cast a swift contraceptive charm on himself. He then pointed his wand at the tree and sent a quick cushioning charm against the tree trunk. The bark was too rough for what his body screamed for him to do.

He then threw all his gentlemanly intentions to the wind and just placed his large hands under her round bum, lifting her so she was at the right height. She quickly wrapped her legs around his waist and he knew his instinct was spot on. He just thrust into her and heard her gasp. For a second, he stopped, afraid he had hurt her. She then opened her magnificent eyes and he felt himself drown in a pool of melting chocolate. Her face was flushed, her mouth open in an o shape, her hair wet and tangled, her eyes sparkling with unmistakable desire. All this for him. He steadied both of them against the tree, hoping his cushioning charm would work between the soft skin of her back and the roughness of the bark, and he started thrusting rhythmically.

He was giving it his all, making the tree trunk they were leaning against shake and apple blossoms fall into a shower around them. He thought he was being rough but she gave him back everything she had and then some. All her fierce energy and passion were unleashed and she was pumping against him like her life depended on it. It felt like she was taking him. He had to fight that. No competition, she had said. Oh no, that wouldn't do. He couldn't use his hands other than to keep them steady so he went with his mouth, nipping at her exposed neck, her moans stoking the flame in him. He found her mouth and they shared a wild and sloppy kiss, lips not completely meeting, his tongue teasing the exquisite shape of her jawbone. She whispered his name close to his mouth, inciting him to give her more. He thrust harder and heard her scream his name before he felt the constricting feeling around his shaft. He let her ride it, and him, before letting go himself in a violent shudder.

For a few seconds, they stood together, their bodies still united, before either one could move. She gracefully unwrapped her legs from around him and saw him slide to the ground, panting wildly. The rain was now falling in earnest, a nice spring shower insufflating life back into the earth. He noticed quite a few of the blooms from the apple tree had fallen upon them and some were still tangled in her wild hair. He gathered her in his arms, not caring that they were both sitting naked, outside, in the rain, at the foot of a gnarled apple tree. And as secluded as their spot was, there was a chance someone could find them. But none of that mattered. He was with her.

She spoke first:

"That was... really nice."

"Nice? You're joking, Hermione? That was bloody fantastic."

"Well, yes, it was lovely, brilliant, exceptional, magnificent, incredible. Shall I continue?" she asked him humorously.

"I love your command of the English language. Go on, please."

"You are too cheeky for your own good, Mr. Weasley," she told him with a tender smirk.

He looked at the sky and the rain still falling.

"Perhaps we should dry ourselves and go back in?" he proposed.

"Perhaps we should put clothes on first?" she retorted.

"All right, if you insist."

They dressed back in silence and used drying spells. Hermione felt her hair and gave a deep sigh.

"My hair must be ghastly. The drying spell usually makes it worse."

He looked at her and noticed her hair was indeed wilder than usual and still held some apple blossoms tangled in it. It made him think of a bride, Hermione as a bride, his. And it aroused him all over again.

"Na. Your hair is fucking brilliant," he said sincerely.

Her hair was perfect in his opinion, had always been because it was unique, just like her. And all of a sudden, it hit him like a Bludger. She was going back to Hogwarts the next day

"I'm gonna miss you," he blurted out.

"Ron, we'll be all right," she told him in a tentative voice. "We've made it through April. It's only two more months."

"Blimey, do you have any idea how long it feels like?"

"I do, I truly do," she replied with empathy. "But I think this... what would you call it? A tryst," she offered.

"Tryst?"

"It means our little sexual encounter."

"I know what it means, Hermione. But why do you always use odd words?"

"Never mind that. It was nice sex. Happy now?"

"I could go for more of it," he cheeked while looking at her with an adorable lopsided grin.

"Incredible," she muttered with the shadow of a smile. Turning serious again, she added timidly:

"This will be a nice memory to fall asleep to, along with your maroon jumper."

"You're gonna take this one too? I don't think mum can knit them fast enough."

"She's a witch. She can," Hermione simply stated.

"I'll miss you," he finally repeated, his voice thicker than usual.

"I'll miss you too. Just promise me to write... and not only these devious letters filled with your sexual fantasies."

"You wrote back," he said unapologetically with a crooked smile.

"Just promise you will write to me."

"I will," he promised as he took her hand and looked in her eyes. "I will, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said while kissing his cheek chastely.

"Now that's sorted, I think there is some chocolate cake left over from lunch just waiting for us."

She rolled her eyes, with an amused smirk, and took the hand he offered to her. The rain finally stopped as they walked back to the house, hand in hand and identical giddy grins plastered on their faces.

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><p><strong>AN** _So that's it. I am thinking of potentially making this a series of hot scenes themed around weather elements (snow, wind, sun...) Please let me know what you think._

_Thank you for reading!_


	2. Snow

**A/N: **_It took me a little while but I have finally written a second entry in this series. The element here is snow._

_Once again, fluffy little piece. Snow, Muggle London, more snow, and yes, some smut too. I hope you enjoy and if you do (or don't), please leave a review._

_Happy holidays to all!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of this_

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><p>As the familiar tugging around his navel abated, Ron felt the ground under his feet. Home at last. He looked quickly at his wrist and the watch his parents had given him what felt like an eternity ago, even if it had been only seven years. The hour hand was creeping dangerously toward five. No wonder he was knackered. He had been up for almost twenty-four straight hours. But he felt some satisfaction knowing that there were two fewer dark wizards roaming the streets.<p>

As he walked toward the building housing the small flat he shared with Hermione, he noticed the crackling noise under his boots: snow. He hadn't even noticed it was snowing. Snow was not unheard of in London but there was at least two inches already on the ground, which was a much rarer occurrence. He thought of snow at Hogwarts, so much farther north and, with a goofy grin on his face, remembered how Hermione had been able to make paths in it with a flick of her wand. Hermione. He knew his warm wife was waiting for him, sleeping peacefully in their bed, and that thought pushed the snow out of his brain.

He quietly let himself in the flat and made his way toward their bedroom. He smiled as he saw her outline in the bed. He quickly undressed, letting his clothes lie wherever they fell. When he was down to his boxer shorts, he pulled the covers and had a silent eye-staring contest with Crookshanks. The squash-faced feline took some liberties whenever Ron was not there at bed time. The cat finally settled at the foot of the bed, far from where he knew Ron's feet could have kicked him, something which, as tempting as it was, Ron would never do. Oddly enough, he liked the idea that Crookshanks was with Hermione when she was home alone.

As he lay down on the bed and pulled the covers over him, he felt Hermione turn toward him instinctively. He heard her mutter something about house elves and marmalade and wondered what she was dreaming about. She nestled against his chest and he protectively wrapped his arm against her warm body, before giving into sleep himself.

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><p>Hermione woke up slowly around six, like she did every morning, whether she had to go to work or not, as was the case that morning. She felt Ron's familiar shape and warmth next to her and sighed with contentment. It had been six years since they had started sharing a bed, two of them as husband and wife, but she still felt all the same excitement she had felt that first time she had awoken with him by her side. She then wondered what time he had come home. She looked at him for a moment, mesmerised by the steady rise and fall of his chest. She ran her fingers lightly across his cheek, noticing he needed to shave, and was rewarded by a smile and a low sound resembling her name. Ron then turned on his side and she heard light snores. She smiled tenderly at his sleeping form and decided not to interrupt what looked like deep slumber. She gave him a light butterfly kiss on the cheek before quietly getting out of bed.<p>

As she made her way to the loo, she took a peek at the window to gauge the weather. The sky was still dark but she could definitely see snow on the ground. She had always enjoyed snow, as it reminded her of holiday times spent skiing with her parents or nice visits to Hogsmeade. And there was this unique memory of Ron making snow appear with his wand and then brushing it off her shoulders. It had been one of the first times he had casually touched her and she remembered it affectionately. Maybe she could convince Ron to have a nice walk in the snow, she mused.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Ron woke up slowly. He had never been a morning person but had learnt with time that there were things he just had to do. His arm automatically stretched to the space next to him in the bed and he was chagrined to feel it empty and cold. Hermione must have been up early, even on a Saturday, thwarting any plans he might have had for a quick morning shag. Well, now that would definitely have been a good reason to wake up early. He looked at his watch and saw it was nine o'clock. He had had over four hours of sleep, he thought sardonically. Enough to conquer the world! Or at least breakfast, and maybe, if he was lucky, Hermione.<p>

He stretched his long legs and finally made his way out of the bed, shuddering as he came in contact with the chill of the room. He grabbed his orange dressing gown -the one Hermione implored him to get rid of but secretly enjoyed wearing while he was away on missions- and made his way to the loo to attend to pressing morning needs.

As he came in the kitchen to grab breakfast, he saw his wife sitting at the table, already dressed and enjoying the last of her usual breakfast of toasts with orange marmalade and English breakfast tea. She was deep into a thick tome, probably researching something for work or just doing a bit of light reading as she would call it.

Ron couldn't help the crooked grin that came to light his face. He just adored the woman, had for a number of years and probably would for decades to come. He walked toward her. Hermione didn't take her eyes off her book but a slow smile appeared on her lips as he came closer and gave them a quick peck.

"Morning, love," he told her still feeling a bit groggy.

"Good morning," she replied joyously.

She finally tore her eyes from the book and ran the back on her hand against his scruffy cheek.

"I know: I need to shave."

"Actually, it gives you a nice, dangerous look."

He raised his eyebrow questioningly.

"Pity it's abrasive against my skin," she said wistfully.

"Well, let me eat first and I promise I'll shave," he told her as he took her hand that was still lingering over his cheek, and kissed it softly. He was pleased to see her hold her breath for a second.

"What time did you get home?" she asked him.

"Around five. You were sleeping, dreaming of house elves and marmalade, and the beast was guarding you," he answered as he made himself a cup of strong tea and plopped four sugar lumps in it.

"Would you like some tea with your sugar?" she asked him sweetly, perpetually amazed by his untameable sweet tooth. "And Crookshanks is not a beast. He is a very clever cat," she defended.

"Right," Ron replied humorously not wanting to let her know how the bloody cat always looked at him as if planning his early demise.

Ron stirred his tea and toasted four slices of bread. He stole the jar of marmalade that was still sitting in front of her and slathered some liberally on one of the toasts. He sighed happily as he bit into the toast and recognised his mother's homemade marmalade.

Hermione couldn't help the grin that lit her face as she saw him eat. There was a special joy in him that only surfaced when he ate food he liked. Most of the time, it involved his mother's food but she had seen that sensorial elation after Hogwarts meals and... in the middle of their lovemaking. She felt heated all of sudden in all kinds of places. She had to face the fact that she was aroused by watching Ron eat. Before she had time to dwell too much on this, he took her out of her thoughts:

"Any plans for today?"

"Well," said Hermione. "I had this idea that maybe we could go for a walk in Muggle London. Have you seen the snow outside? St. James Park is fantastic under the snow."

He hadn't looked at the window yet and saw there was now a fair amount of the white powder covering the landscape. While he had other ideas for how to spend the day with her, most of them not involving clothes, part of him was always ready for snow.

"That's a bloody brilliant idea," he told her, his mouth still full of toast and marmalade.

"I'm glad you think so. Now, could you get ready? The faster you are ready, the faster we can get to St James Park, and the faster we can be back here and just enjoy ourselves," she said in barely a whisper.

She was happy to see him swallow hard.

"I love how you mind works. Did I mention how brilliant I think you are?"

"About ten times a day but you I don't tire of hearing it," she said while a light pink blush crept on her cheeks.

"All right. Gimme ten minutes for a shower and we can go to that park."

Ron shoved a full toast in his mouth at once as he made his way toward the bathroom. He took the fastest shower he could. He took the time to brush his teeth but decided to forgo shaving, despite his earlier reassurance to Hermione that he would do so.

He was back in the sitting room, fully dressed and ready for a walk in the snow (and maybe a snowball fight). Hermione was trying to fit her impressive mane under a wool hat and was failing at it as several loose curls escaped. She held him her hand and they Disapparated.

* * *

><p>They landed in a discrete spot next to one of the park entrances. There were a few other pedestrians in the park but it was still quiet. Ron and Hermione walked companionably until Ron grabbed some snow off a bench and made it into a snowball. As she saw what he was doing, she admonished him:<p>

"Don't. Even. Think. Of. It. Ron Weasley."

He gave her a wide mischievous grin before whispering to her:

"Too late."

And he threw the ball straight at her and it landed on her chest. Before she had time to react, he was making another snowball and aiming at her again. This one landed on her back as she turned around to shield herself. He wanted a snowball fight? Fine. She would show him. She quickly gathered snow and threw a nicely-aimed ball at him. It hit him in the stomach. She saw the look on his face change from one of amusement to one of challenge. He gathered more snow and she started running, hiding behind a bench. He missed her on his next shot and that seemed to make him more determined. She didn't miss him and hit him on the back of his head, knocking off the wool hat he had been wearing. She couldn't help the fit of laughter that seized her as she saw him rake his hand through his hair to remove the snow.

"You. Will. Pay," was all he said before he zoomed on her. She tried to outrun him but that was futile. His long legs helped him catch her quickly and he tackled her down to a snow-covered patch of grass. She was laughing the entire time, as he took some snow off the grass and smeared it over her coat, and then her neck.

"Stop, it's cold," she protested between two fits of laughter.

She then grabbed more snow and rubbed it on his face. He caught her hands and locked them above her as she was still racked with laughter.

He looked at her and saw she had laughed so much tears had appeared at the corner of her closed eyes. She was lying in the snow, her hat gone and her hair splayed against the white powder. Her face was gleeful, positively relaxed.

She opened her eyes and saw him tower over her, pinning her. She realised she couldn't escape and she didn't want to. Then she looked at him and saw the hunger in his eyes, a primal lust.

"Ron," she started but didn't have time to finish as his lips abruptly came crashing on hers, silencing her.

The urgency in his kiss almost made her melt. His gloved hands came to frame her face, making her shiver as the skin of her cheeks felt the cold and wet leather. Her lips nevertheless remained attached to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer, to the point he was almost smashing her with his much heavier body. She didn't care. The kiss had blown on the embers of the fire that had been slowly building in her since she had laid eyes on him eating that morning. And now, every lick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth was stoking the flames.

He kissed her with abandon, enjoying the taste that was so much her, sweet and tangy. As one of his knee prodded between her legs, she opened them welcomingly and he settled there, their pelvises delightfully flush through the many layers of clothes.

He kept kissing her wildly, his lips sometimes veering to her jawbone or the top of her neck. He didn't even realise that he had his wet gloves against her sensitive and smooth skin. They were fully clad, bundled in heavy coats and scarves and gloves, but the way his body was covering hers, the way hers was trying to instinctively mould itself to his, the way both were undulating rhythmically in perfect unison all reminded him of a much more intimate scene, involving much fewer layers.

He was about to ask her to Disapparate back home when a loud whistling noise made them jump apart. Hermione tried to sit up too quickly and ended up bumping her head against Ron's lips, splitting his bottom one open. She heard him swear loudly but before she had time to even look at his lip or apologise, she heard a loud cough behind them.

Hermione saw two Bobbies perched atop horses looking at Ron and her sternly.

"Miss, it really is not the proper place for this kind of display," the first one said.

He looked young and deadly serious.

"It's a public park with children around," the other one added. He was older, in his forties, and looked thoroughly amused by the situation.

Hermione felt her face heat up despite the snow surrounding them. Ron was massaging his bloody lip and under the cover of his hand, he asked her:

"Who are these people? And what's with their bloody hats?"

"Muggle law enforcement," she replied under her breath.

"And you, young lad, need to watch your language. I have no clue who that Merlin bloke is but I don't suppose he would appreciate you talking about his testicles in such a manner," the older Bobby told Ron with an amused smirk on his face.

"Now, just get yourself together before we have to issue a citation for indecent exposure," the older Bobby pursued with barely suppressed mirth.

"Yes, Sir," was Hermione's short answer as she stood up along with Ron. The blush had still not left her face.

Hermione was mortified. That was the problem with Ron. The minute he kissed her, her brain seemed to suddenly abandon all rational thoughts. But at the same time, it had been extremely enjoyable. The heat in her cheeks increased again. She took Ron by the arm, rather forcefully, and led him back on the walking path. He protested at first, asking her where she was taking him. She didn't relent and just dragged him along, far from the Bobbies. She thought she heard the older one laughing before commenting about how "Ginger was in trouble with his bird."

"What the fuck are you doing, Hermione?"

"Shush," she ordered him briskly.

She spotted the perfect spot behind a wide tree. She took both of them there, hiding them away from everyone else, and made them Disapparate on the spot.

* * *

><p>Ron felt the familiar pulling around his navel and was glad to feel firm ground under his feet when they Apparated back directly in their sitting room.<p>

Before he had time to say anything, she was taking her gloves and scarf out and talking:

"I can't believe what we just did. We were almost caught having sex in public."

"Herm...," he started, wanting to remind her they had still been fully clad, with many layers, and that all they had done was heavy snogging, in a Muggle Park, in the snow.

"Do you realise how mortifying that was?" she interrupted him while savagely undoing the buttons of her coat before taking it off. He wondered whether she would continue taking her clothes off after the coat. "I've never been so embarrassed."

"Why is it embarrassing?" he retorted, while getting out of his own jacket. "We were snogging and you're my wife. Isn't a man allowed to snog his wife in the Muggle world?"

She ignored him but he was happy to see she was pulling her jumper over her head, probably overheated from the roaring fire in the fireplace. His eyes automatically descended toward the way the t-shirt she wore underneath beautifully espoused her breasts. And he found out that he really wanted to do more than snogging. He was actually in the mood to thoroughly shag his wife.

Impervious to the way his mind had veered, Hermione continued her tirade.

"And these were Muggle police," she lamented.

"Hermione," he started again.

"This is so..."

Ron wanted to tell her to shut up but he thought action would work best in this situation. He took her face in his hands again (he had removed his gloves while she had been blabbering) and made her look at him before resuming the snog that had started in the snow.

At once, all of Hermione's agitation seemed to melt away as her mind was filled with Ron: his lips softly on hers, his tongue searching hers, his fingers gently caressing her cheeks. She opened her mouth willingly and teased his tongue with hers. She peppered little kisses around his lips, tasting peppermint from his toothpaste and ... was it blood?

She pulled away.

"Ron, you're still bleeding!" she exclaimed.

"So?"

"You need to heal it," she told him as her fingers came to gently rest on his lips.

"You can kiss it better," he told her and was rewarded by a smile.

He took his wand from his back pocket and healed his lip quickly. He was about to put it down on the table next to him when she suddenly asked him:

"Can you make it snow?"

He waved his wand and a few flurries starting appearing out of nowhere and lazily made their way down. He saw her looking at the snowflakes with amusement and what looked like amazement.

She didn't say anything when he put his wand down this time. He gathered her in his arms, lightly brushing her voluminous hair to remove a few wayward flurries. They fell around them, a few perching themselves in their hair and melting instantly.

Ron then took her mouth in a very gentle kiss, his lips barely touching hers, while his fingertips went on tracing the outline of her face, enjoying the smooth skin. He drew her with him until he felt the sofa against the back of his legs. He sat on the sofa and pulled her down with him. She was now sitting on his lap, her legs bent at the knee straddling him on each side.

His hands grasped her waist possessively to bring her upper body flush with his. He mentally cursed the layers of clothing that stood as many obstacles between his skin and hers. He scrunched the cotton of her t-shirt up, sighing with enjoyment when his fingertips found smooth and creamy skin underneath.

She was looking at him, shuddering with satisfaction at the feel of his fingers on her bare stomach. She saw how his eyes had closed in silent contentment. She examined his face in the firelight. The freckles were still there but much more subdued than they had been when he had been eleven. She noticed the stubble that, despite his promise to the contrary, had not been tended to. She ran her hand against his cheek, tenderly. He probably had not shaved in several days, enough for his stubble to be softer under the touch. She joined her lips to her hand, kissing him almost chastely, barely a whisper, and she felt the corner of his lips twitch upward in appreciation.

She followed the line of his cheek to his neck with her lips, lighter than a butterfly. She slowly unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing, revealing more pale and freckled skin, stretched over taut muscles. She noticed a few snowflakes falling on his bare chest. She stuck her tongue out to lap one off his nipple and was rewarded by a low moan. She continued the trail with the tip of her tongue down his stomach, stopping just above his navel.

Ron opened his eyes slowly. Hermione possessed such a talented tongue, be it as a vehicle to express the many thoughts populating her brilliant brain or to drive him into complete madness and ecstasy.

He took his hands off of her waist and started sliding them higher underneath her t-shirt, gently prodding the underside of her breast, before climbing higher and enclosing each bra-clad mound in his large hands. He opened his hands and rubbed softly the insides of his palms against the fabric, feeling her nipples harden under his touch, as if ready to spring into action. He saw her close her eyes and moan pleasurably.

Ron was deliberate with his caresses but eliciting much enjoyment. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking the spectacle she was offering as if it were some rare ambrosia. She felt powerful, feminine, treasured, and he was the only one who could bring this in her.

He removed his hands from her breasts, much to her chagrin, and started lifting her t-shirt over her head. She aided him by raising her arms, expediting the discarding of the garment. She also evened the score by taking his unbuttoned shirt completely off of him.

His hands roamed along her bare back, trying to blindly connect the five moles he knew to be along her spine. He had committed to memory her entire body: from these exquisite five moles to the funny shape of her navel, or to the light dimples she had just above her magnificent arse.

His long fingers fought a quickly won battle with the clasp of her bra and they were now both completely bare from the waist up. She leaned against him, rubbing her breast eagerly against his chest while her lips landed on his. She nipped lightly at his plump bottom lip. He opened his mouth and a well-known choreography started again between their tongues, both fighting for dominance.

Hermione then hiked her pelvis higher until she settled herself on the hard ridge where the fabric of his jeans strained over a blatant bulge. She rubbed herself against his erection, each additional bit of friction another degree of bliss. She heard him moan in her mouth and felt him thrust against her, through the layers of their jeans.

He wanted her now, wanted to be sheathed fully in that marvellous heat and silkiness of hers, wanted to make her scream and abandon all reasons, wanted to empty himself in her. His mouth stayed attached to hers while his hands went to the top of her jeans, opening them slowly. She stopped her rhythmic undulation for a moment and he seized the opportunity to slide his fingers in the front of her knickers, letting them slither to her wet core. He started rubbing the little bundle of nerves hidden beneath. She resumed her gyrations and his fingers moved in unison with her pelvis, creating a delightful, almost unbearable friction. It didn't take long before he felt her shudder under his fingers and she cried her release against his mouth

He finally let go of her lips, to better admire the result of his work. She was beautifully flushed, her hair a wild mess around her head, her eyes closed and her mouth barely opened. She slowly opened her eyes and saw him staring at her, pride, lust, and adoration all evident in his eyes.

She felt a few flakes fall on her shoulders and saw him run his long fingers against them, slowly brushing the snow away, like he had done all these years ago, except she had not been bare-chested then. Another thing had changed: while she had been uncertain whether her feelings for him had been requited back then, she had absolutely no doubt they were now.

She got off his lap and put her index finger against his lips to quell the protest he was about to utter. Any word he might have wanted to speak died in his throat as she started slowly strip off the rest of the clothes she had been wearing until she stood completely naked in front of him. She then went on working on him, attacking his belt and the zip of his jeans. He slightly lifted his bum to let her slide his trousers and pants off of him.

The moment Ron was as nude as her; Hermione went back to straddling him, before slowly impaling herself on him, her eyes never leaving his. She heard him groan his approval as his hands went to possessively fondle her backside. She started pumping her hips slowly and increased the pace as she heard him moan louder.

Ron thrust methodically into her. She was surrounding him in warmth and silk, and riding him into complete abandon. He responded in kind to each of her moves while fully enjoying the sight she was offering him. Her breasts were bouncing hypnotically each time he pushed in her. Her eyes were still locked on his and she was biting her bottom lip, fully focused on the act. The rhythm became frenetic and then erratic as he felt her constrict around him and control escaped him. He just let go and spilled inside of her, before gathering her tightly into his arms.

As their breath returned to normal, they lay down together, in front of the fire, watching the snow Ron had magically created fall down around them and melt quickly.

"I've always loved the snow you make. It reminds me of snow globes," she told him softly.

"Snow globes?" he asked.

"Muggle thing. It is a traditional souvenir shop product. It's usually a miniature replica of a monument in a globe filled with water and white flakes. When you shake it, it looks like it is snowing. I used to collect them when I was younger."

"Really? And you gave me a hard time about my chocolate frog card collection?" he replied with humour as he kissed her nose lightly and gathered her closer to him.

He might have known her and loved her for more than ten years, she still could surprise him.

* * *

><p>A few days later, Hermione gave Ron a special present. It was a St. James Park snow globe. Upon closer inspection, Ron saw a few elements she had magically added: Two Bobbies on horses, and a young couple lying on the grass, the man with red hair and the woman with bushy brown hair, kissing as snow fell on them.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_ First, _I must apologize for not updating sooner but I must admit writing sex scenes is more difficult.__

_Second, I am not sure Hermione collects snow globes but that sounded like a fun fact. Also, I really loved the idea of Ron making snow appear with just his wand in Half-Blood Prince. That would be such a great thing to be able to do._

_I hope you enjoyed. I have an idea for another entry here but it will probably be another month before I publish it._

_Thank you for reading!_


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